Page 74 of Covert Mission

I flick my gaze to her face. “What’s that mean?”

“She was always out of the country. He never said what she was doing. But from what I gather about the way she looks, I don’t think it’s work.”

Belle’s expression leaves no doubt. She’s not impressed with William’s wife.

I grin. “I saw some photos. She’s kind of plasticized.”

“Girl, that woman’s got more fake parts than Barbie.”

I snort and instantly feel bad for laughing. The mood is grim and here we are cutting up. But I needed that so bad.

“Thanks for making me laugh. I feel a little better. This day…night…is really wearing on me.”

Our conversation ends abruptly when a man in a uniform of some kind strides over. “I need you.” He points at me. “And you.” He points at Belle.

I scramble to my feet. Oh, god.

“Is something wrong?”

He’s already moving away. “Come this way.”

Please let everyone be okay. I’m worried for the people of Santa Rosa. I’m worried about Beast’s team too. Not sure when I started thinking of them as our guys. But that’s what comes out of my mouth. “I hope our guys are okay.”

Belle’s up and shaking out her shirt. “I don’t like his expression.”

We hurry toward the triage area, following his path. “I don’t either.”

ChapterTwenty-Two

Mack Reese, AKA Truck, is leaning back on a bright orange Reeves stretcher with his arms crossed behind his head.

Fucking hell.

“What’d you do to yourself?”

“Piece of metal in my leg. I told this lovely medic one of you guys could cut part of it off right here.”

The medic scrunches her nose up and smacks his chest with a little tap. “Crazy man.”

“I’m a SEAL. We’re all crazy,” Truck tells her with a cocky smirk. He hooks a thumb at me. “Just ask him.”

I don’t confirm or deny. “He’s fine. He’s been through worse.”

Now that I have eyes on Truck, relief loosens the choke-hold on my neck, taking with it some of the darkness that memories of my father always leave.

Damn, it’s been a long time since I had to tap into that anger.

Trying to hide my mood, I grip my friend’s shoulder. “Seriously, no other injuries?”

“I’m fine. I stepped into a gap between two pieces of stone. The debris shifted. Idiotic move. Didn’t see the metal. It would be a lot easier to get me out of here if you could cut off the majority of the metal.”

He looks over at my arm, which is now a bloody mess. “What about you? You’re bleeding.”

I hold up my arm and twist so I can see the cut on my inner arm. It’s a three-inch gash near the tricep, but more to the inside. There’s a steady red stream coursing down my arm now. The blood is mixing with sweat and looks worse than it did a few minutes ago. There are new scrapes and bruises around the original injury too.

I look down. My shirt is dark with blood. My pants are splattered too.

“It looks a lot worse than it is.” I wave their concern away. “Just another day in the office.”

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